


Sax Rohmer #1

by Jakobslock



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: All Of That Xylorgous Nonsense, Flashbacks/Hallucinations, M/M, Panic Attacks, Possession, descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakobslock/pseuds/Jakobslock
Summary: Xylorgous is a hell unlike any they've ever faced, a nightmare unlike any they've ever experienced before. Alistair and Wainwright manage to make it through in one piece, but every ordeal leaves scars. This is what happens after.
Relationships: Sir Hammerlock/Wainwright Jakobs
Comments: 12
Kudos: 40





	Sax Rohmer #1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was...A challenge. I rewrote it probably four times, struggled with it in a Lot of ways. Turns out writing about severe emotional distress through the lens of characters you adore is difficult!
> 
> Anyhow, here it is. A fic about trauma, unimaginable horror, helplessness, desperation, hope, and love.
> 
> Fic title is taken from a mountain goats song, found here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptPs45_YuYw

_ This is hell. _

_ “WHERE ARE YOU?” _

_ He is certain this is hell. _

_ “JUST GIVE HIM BACK, YOU WITCH” _

_ His throat hurts from screaming, his shoulders ache from the constant kickback of his rifle. He doesn't know how long he's been here, he just knows that he'd been running after Wainwright. There was a flash, a scream, then he found himself in a tunnel, and Wainwright was gone.  _

_ "Oh, but he wants to be with me, you foolish man. Your love is meaningless. What are you in the face of our bond?" _

_ That voice, her voice, on the intercom again. He felt it vibrate in his teeth, an itch in the back of his mind, crawling down his spine. He doesn't know how she can hear him. There's a shout to the left, a shot rings out, the Bonded drops. He checks him for ammo, running low. His shoulder hurts. _

_ "FIND SOMEONE ELSE FOR YOUR DAMNED RITUAL"  _

_ He's shouting at the ceiling, aimlessly. He knows she'll hear it. It didn't take him long to figure out that the tunnels were the inner workings of the monster. Follow the tunnels, find the heart, find Wainwright. _

_ "The Vessel has already been chosen, it will not be long now." _

_ Just keep running, you have to be getting close. Ignore every ache and pain, they don't matter. _

_ "Perhaps if you truly loved him, you could have saved him." _

_ Keep running. There's a lift ahead, that has to be it. _

_ "But now, worm, you will not even get to die with him." _

_ Yes, yes that's it. The chamber is up ahead. He runs as fast as he can, runs right into the room. Wainwright is standing there, his hand is in Hers. The two of them turn to him, and for just a moment the placid emptiness on Wainwright's face shifts, shock in his glowing eyes. He drops Her hand. _

_ "Alistair?" _

"Alistair?"

The man in question jolts, the memory fading to the back in an instant. Alistair looks around, they're in a room, there's a roaring fire and several dozen people around them. Right, they're in the Lodge. It's their wedding reception, isn't it?

"Al, you in there darlin'?" Wainwright asks, a worried look in his eyes. They're back to that beautiful shade of brown, and Alistair is grateful every time he looks and sees his eyes not glowing, his cheeks not stained with black tears.

"I- yes, apologies, just drifted off for a moment," Alistair laughs, waving his hand absently. Wainwright doesn't look convinced.

"You sure 'bout that?" he asks, gently cupping Alistair's cheek in his hand. Alistair swallows. His throat hurts.

"Positive," he lies, "It's just been a bit of a long day." For a moment Wainwright looks guilty, afraid. He tenses up, dropping his hand before relaxing his shoulders, his expression going back to a wide smile. The gesture looks forced.

"Well, alright then, if you're sure."

Thank god, Moxxi comes over a moment later, her and Wainwright settling into conversation. Alistair stares at his glass of scotch a moment, and downs the rest of it. He thinks he can hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Moxxi and Wainwright's conversation fades to the background, someone gets him another drink. He's not sure who, maybe Moze? He smiles and thanks them regardless. Someone else drags him over to the bar, this time he knows it's Gaige, no one else is that loud. The name to the face helps ground reality a bit. He takes a long swig of his drink, leaning against the bar top. Gaige elbows him, swaying slightly with a wide grin on her face. 

"Heyyy, hope you don't mind being dragged off from your hubby but I wanna spend time with my..." she trails off with an 'about to vomit' noise, holding up a finger for a moment, "My favorite guy in the world! And my favorite groom! Groom guy!" Alistair raises an eyebrow at her.

"I would have thought you'd hold your liquor a bit better, Gaige," he says, teasing tone in his voice, elbowing her back. She bursts into giggles, slumping against the bar. 

"I'm holdin' it so good," she slurs, poking him in the nose, "I've just had...four six seven...A loooot of margs."

"I can see that."

"Hey! Not my fault I'm in the party spirit! Party pooper, it's your party!! Get into the party spirit Hammy! Drinks!"

"Please stop saying the word party," Alistair says, rolling his eyes lightly. He ruffles her pigtails fondly, swallowing back the rest of his drink. "I have been drinking, I simply have the ability to actually handle alcohol."

Gaige swats at his hand with a pout on her face, "Heyyy, I jus," she hiccups, "Said I can handle it! You're so mean." That gets a laugh out of him. Gaige’s antics always cheer him up.

“You cannot call me mean, it’s my wedding night,” Alistair says with a chuckle. Gaige leans her chin on her elbow and blows a raspberry at him. “Charming as always, Gaige.”

“Another drink, for the young groom...” Mancubus’ eerie voice chimes in, already swapping Alistair’s empty glass for another two fingers of amber brandy. Alistair smiles gratefully at him, taking the glass in his hand.

“Thank you, Mancubus. Not merely for the drink, but for all of the guidance and assistance you have provided us,” Alistair raises his glass a bit, to honor their unsettling and gracious host. Mancubus smiles, his horrifying shark tooth grin almost wobbly.

“Ah! I simply wish to provide hospitality. The Lodge is glad to offer... Comfort. As well as protection from what lies... Beyond.”

“And I am exceptionally grateful for it, my friend,” More than he has words for, truly. Something about Mancubus’ presence is oddly comforting, considering how off-putting the man is. Alistair feels calmer just talking to him. “I will be sure to-”

“THE HEART STILL BEATS, THE HEART STILL BLEEDS,” echoes through the room, in His voice. The glass shatters within Alistair’s metal hand, spilling scotch across the bartop. He's frozen. The room goes dead silent.

“I’m jus’ messing around, relax everyone!” Wainwright calls out, laughing to himself. The crowd settles back down, Moze’s shout of “You asshole!” echoing behind him. Alistair is starting to hear his pulse again. His hand is still clenched in a fist where the glass once was, a bit of it embedded in the rubber of his palm. He stares at the dark liquid spreading across the wooden surface of the bar, if he was a fool he might mistake it for-

_ Blood. Seeping into the back of his shirt where he lies against the floor of the Heart’s chamber. Dripping into his eye from the blow to his head. Everything is red, oozing, through his dizziness he vaguely makes out a splotch of lighter color, pink, maybe tan? It’s coming closer to him. He blinks away the pain, trying to focus. It crouches down in front of him, that familiar smile twisted. _

_ “The vessel does not belong to you, worm.” _

_ Vincent’s words, Wainwright’s voice. Who’s eyes? Both of them, neither? It- He- They- are taking his hand, why are they taking his hand? No, his engagement ring, pocketed. He can’t make his voice work to protest, his throat hurts. He lies there, shaking. Get up, get up, take it back.  _

_ Vincent laughs, Wainwright stands. _

_ “He never did, I see his fears. His memories. Your bond is weak, fragile. I know his fears, I know yours as well, Alistair.” _

“Alistair!” A shrill voice breaks through. He’s still shaking, no, wait, someone is shaking him. He squeezes his eyes shut. Breathe, just breathe, it’s over.

“Al, what’s going on with you?” Gaige’s voice is concerned, even if her words slur slightly. She’s using his first name, that isn't a good sign. That means something’s wrong, is something wrong? It’s her hand on his arm. It’s too much, she’s too close, everything is too close, he can feel it without opening his eyes. It hurts when he does, so he stares at the bartop again. It’s clean now. Gaige squeezes his arm, “Is something wro-”

“I need a moment,” Alistair chokes, getting up quickly and pulling his arm from her grasp. He makes for the side door, half hoping no one notices and half not caring. His vision is blurring, going black around the edges. His pulse pounds in his ears, his throat burns. He slams the door open with more force than necessary, gasping in the frigid air. His body feels like it’s shutting down, stumbling towards the edge of the porch. His insides are churning, his head pounding as he loses the contents of his stomach over the edge, fingers desperately clinging to the railing. 

It’s hard to breathe, is it the cold? No, this is different. He can’t get a deep breath. He leans on the railing, pressing his forehead against the freezing metal in an attempt to stop his head pounding. The tunnel vision isn’t fading, so he shuts his eyes. You’re having a panic attack, the logical part of his brain supplies. The rest of him scoffs at that, he’s a Hammerlock, he doesn’t panic. His body disagrees, he’s shaking so bad that he ends up sinking to his knees, unable to keep himself upright. He’s gasping for air, he can’t breathe properly, it’s like he’s forgotten how. 

A hand settles on his back, and he jumps so hard he ends up knocking his head on the rail. He barely notices the sharp sting of it. 

“Hey now, easy there boyo, no need fer that,” a voice comes from beside him, oddly gentle. He knows that voice, no one else has that accent. “Let’s work on gettin’ ya settled down, alright?” Zane’s voice comes again, his other hand going around Alistair’s upper arm. He’s maneuvered so he’s sitting down, and while he wants to scream for Zane to stop touching him, the contact helps ground him a bit. He leans into it. He can’t scream anyway. His throat burns.

“Head ‘tween your knees there,” Zane’s hand is on him again, gently pushing the back of his head down. Alistair wraps his arms around his knees, doing as he’s told. He’ll complain about being bossed around later, once he can speak again. Thankfully like this Zane can’t see the pained expression on his face. “Now, ah shite what’s the trick...Right! Breathin’!” Alistair whines, he wants to say “No shit” but he can’t quite manage it. Zane pats his back, it’s both comforting and makes his skin crawl at the touch.

“Now, deep breaths, right? In an’ out, nice and easy like. I think yer supposed to count? Like one-two-three, one-two-three on the inhale then the exhale,” Zane keeps talking, but Alistair tunes him out a little. Breathing, right. Deep breaths. Collect yourself, Hammerlock. He forces himself to think about Wainwright, who is alive and perfectly safe inside. He thinks about his smile, the way his hand fits so perfectly in Alistair’s own, that stupid smug look he gets when he makes a particularly horrendous joke. He thinks of Wainwright, and the horrible feeling starts to fade.

Finally, he settles down enough that he no longer feels as though he’s going to fall to pieces. He can breathe again, even if it’s shaky. Slowly, Alistair lifts his head up, leaning back against the railing. He feels horrible, drained. Zane is oddly quiet next to him, considering how much he was rambling a moment ago. Alistair laments the loss of it, a bit. Zane seems like he’s waiting for him, he supposes he should actually say something. 

“I’m fine,” he croaks, closing his eyes to try and quell the pounding in his head.

“Like hell ya are,” Zane replies, a hard edge to his voice. Alistair makes a soft, vaguely disgruntled noise.

“I just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all,” he says. His voice is quiet, and he’s fighting like hell to keep it even. 

“Oh, cut the crap, will ye? Think I dunno what a damn panic attack is?”

“It wasn’t-”

“It was! Don’t try an’ say it’s somethin it ain’t!”

Zane’s obviously not budging on this, which means Alistair has to admit it to himself. He opens his eyes to stare at the ground between his feet, taking his hat off and raking a hand through his hair.

“It- It has just been a long day. Nothing more.”

“Al, ye don’t have to try and act all brave with this, ya know? I was there too! Saw what happened, start ta finish!”

“I know that...” Alistair protests weakly. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to think about it. 

“It’s all crazy! Curses and creepy tentacle monsters and shite? Enough ta make anyone freak a bit!”

“Zane...”

“Not ta mention the whole possession thing! Got messy there, right? Phew, thought for sure things were gonna nosedive. What with the heart business and then Wainwright almost dyi-”

_ “WAINWRIGHT!” No no no no no not like this he can’t he can’t lose him- _

**“** **_Stop,”_ ** Alistair cuts him off, cuts the memory off, desperately, his nails digging into his skin. “Shut up, don’t you dare,” he growls, curling his arms tighter around himself. Zane, thank god, doesn’t continue. He stares at Alistair, not looking at all offended by the outburst. More confused than anything. 

“The hell do you two think denyin’ anything is gonna get ya?” he asks, his voice much less intense now. Alistair makes a cut off whining noise, shaking his head. The horrible feeling is starting to come back just as quickly as it left. 

“He’s in there acting as though...As though nothing happened. Like it’s all perfectly fine and dandy, no troubles here, that would be absurd!” Alistair laughs, mildly hysterical. 

“Hey, hey! Don’t make me do the breathin’ thing again,” Zane says, narrowing his eyes slightly, “Let’s just relax, alright? So how Wain’s acting is getting to ya, huh?” Alistair sighs, abruptly mourning his spilled scotch inside.

“I feel as though I am remembering things wrong. Surely I must be, things cannot have been that bad or he would be acting as such...” Alistair trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Perhaps I am merely going insane. Everyone in this damned town is afflicted, after all.” Zane shrugs next to him.

“Think maybe he just hasn’t gotten the time to think through it all, y’know? We kinda jumped straight from “nearly dyin in a crazy murder meat palace” to “keg stands and party gifts, turn the music up or I’ll whup yer ass!” after all,” he says, doing a terrible impression of Wainwright at the end. It almost makes Alistair laugh. 

Almost.

“I suppose...” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. He makes a soft sound that could almost be mistaken for a laugh, if it didn’t sound so painful. “I am entirely unable to stop thinking about it, about everything...” He looks at his wrists, the bruised and cut skin on his human one barely showing from under the cuff of his jacket. His left thumb is bruised severely. Alistair inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut. 

_ Just keep your eyes shut. You can’t look at him. If you look at him you’ll crack, don’t lose focus. Rope, he thinks it’s rope? It’s rough, cutting into his wrist. His shoulders ache, his arms tied behind him. Keep your eyes shut. You can’t look at him. Focus. Don’t think about that horrible empty look on his face. Don’t think about Her. Focus.  _

_ Pulling against the bonds. They’re tight. Skin tears, the bonds slick with new blood, does it make it better or worse? His gun is gone, his knife is gone. He knows what to do. There's been bonds before, rope ones not Eldritch ones. Dislocate the thumb, slide your hand out, find your gun, get her, save him, do it Now, Alistair- _

"Oi! Alistair!" Zane snaps his fingers in front of his face insistently, Alistair opens his eyes to glare at him. "Jeez, you in there?"

"Obviously," he says through his teeth. Zane quirks an eyebrow.

"Think you an' old Wainwright need to have a talk about all of this," Zane says, his voice so oddly soft and gentle. "Gettin' late anyhow, sure no one would mind if the newlyweds snuck off on their own."

"I doubt he will want to discuss it."

"Doesn't matter, he's gotta. He'll be havin' nightmares either way, you too I reckon."

Alistair groans, not wanting to argue it further. He's exhausted and there's no point. He sighs, his throat burns. Zane gets to his feet, apparently taking Alistair's silence as cue to end this strained conversation. He holds a hand out to Alistair. He only stares at it for a few moments before taking it. He sways a little when Zane hauls him to his feet, the man holding his arms out to catch Alistair if need be.

"Alright there?" he asks, sounding a bit concerned. Alistair nods, blinking away the moment of light-headedness.

"Just a minor spell of dizziness."

"That from the drink or everything else?"

"Likely both."

Zane nods, and they make their way back inside, slowly. 

"...Thank you," Alistair mumbles, almost like he's ashamed to say it. Or maybe ashamed to need it. He's not fond of vulnerability, at least not like this, where he has no choice but to show it. It's humiliating, being the slave to one's emotions. He'll be able to control it better after a nights sleep, hopefully. 

"Ah, don't mention it," Zane shrugs it off with a grin. Alistair is honestly grateful for how casual he is about it, both this situation right now and everything leading to it. He doesn't think he could handle pity. "Seriously! Don't! Can't have people thinkin' I'm some sort of softie."

Alistair smirks as they open the doors, lightly nudging Zane with his shoulder. Zane is, however, instantly distracted by an odd looking man in a long coat standing in the middle of the room.

"Oi! Burton, ya made it! Sorry Al, gotta go!" and then he's gone, throwing an arm over the odd man's shoulders with a wide grin and leading him off to the side. Well then.

"Well he just lit up like a Mercenary Day tree, didn't he?" comes Moxxi's soft voice. She slides up next to Alistair, wrapping an arm around his waist. He smiles softly at her, his oldest friend, instinctively draping his arm over her shoulders. 

"I wonder who mister tall dark and handsome is? Zane seems pretty interested," she says, watching Zane and the mystery man at the bar. Zane definitely seems... Very touchy feely with him. Points for enthusiasm. The man doesn't seem opposed, in fact he seems rather interested, if the smile on his face is anything to judge by.

"Must be someone he knows. There was mention of a detective, he certainly looks the type," Alistair comments, unconsciously leaning against Moxxi a bit. 

"Hmm, I'll bet you fifty bucks Zane makes a move before the end of the night, he's got that look in his eye. That kitten's looking to pounce."

"He absolutely will, so I will simply give you fifty dollars and we will skip over the betting altogether."

"Where's your lust for adventure, sugar?"

"You have killed it personally with too many rigged bets."

Moxxi scoffs, lightly jabbing Alistair in the side.

"Well aren't you fussy tonight? What's the trouble, hun? Running off on your wedding night like that?" she asks him, giving him that Look she has, her "I can see through your shit" look.

Alistair freezes up, looking away. Damn it, can't they all just mind their own business? He's about to get a bit snappy, but Moxxi squeezes him a little.

"Rough night, hm? Moze told me about it, wish I'd been there to help with the cult killing." Her voice is light and casual, bother words make Alistair's head ache. His throat hurts, he's not sure how to respond so he just nods. Moxxi gets the picture. 

"Ah well, plenty of time for you to tell me all the juicy details some other time. You just got hitched! You should be celebrating," she says with a wink. "Make some use out of the fancy stuff I gave you for your birthday a couple years back, it's a bit slippery though, just a warning."

Alistair laughs. Trust Moxxi to know how to diffuse a bad mood. She's a damn miracle worker.

"Oh, believe me we already have. Wainwright was rather fond of it, if I recall," he teases lightly.

"Ha! You'll give me a run for my money someday, sugar. Get on back to your hubby, I'm sure no one will mind if you slip off for some time alone."

"...I do not believe it is that sort of evening, Moxxi,"Alistair sighs. He wishes it was, it was supposed to be. His perfect wedding night involved several rounds and some silk rope, maybe a nice cigar. Instead he's here.

"I know, Alistair. It's been a rough time for you two, and I know what you both need is some space and some time," Moxxi lets go of his waist, to come around a bit to take his hands, staring him in the eye. Her gaze is brilliant, piercing, and can see directly through him. She winks at him. "You go get your man, I'll distract the masses so you can make a getaway."

Alistair could cry. His shoulders slump in relief and he pulls Moxxi in for a hug.

"I owe you," he says, voice muffled by her hair. She laughs softly.

"Yeah yeah, buy me dinner sometime. I know what money Jakobs makes, you're getting me all you can eat sushi. Now go!" Moxxi shoos him off, pushing him towards where Wainwright is conversing with Amara. She saunters off, and the second she leaves Alistair feels that now familiar dread starting to pool up in his stomach again. He swipes a drink off a table and slams it back, not caring who it belongs to. He hates that the idea of talking to his husband makes him anxious, but he doesn't know if he can take more of Wainwright talking like everything is perfect and wonderful. 

He takes a breath, and walks up to Wainwright and Amara. He's not too close with this particular siren, she sort of terrifies him. However she does have a love for a fight and was a wonderful companion in the hunt for the wendigo, so he likes her quite a bit. In fact she has consistently had his back, ever since their first meeting in the Anvil. She did with Her as well.

_ Broken thumb but out of the bonds, now he just has to find them. He was thrown somewhere, locked up to keep out of the way, where is he? Everything looks the same, red and bloody and raw. He just has to move, he'll find his way back again, he did before, he will again, he can't stop. _

_ A voice, a woman's voice. But not Her's, no, this is someone else. Someone familiar. Where is he? Hasn't he been here before? His throat hurts. His head hurts. Was the tunnel spinning before? There's the voice again. He stumbles, someone catches him. There's a glow, soft blue and swirling, and he knows that means it's someone to trust. _

_ "Woah! Easy there, where the hell have you been, Alistair?" _

"Alistair! About time you showed up!" Comes that same voice. The memory doesn't quite grab him as strongly, but he's still shaken out of it, like being woken from a dream. Or a nightmare.

Amara grins, a hand on her hip. "I've been keeping Wainwright busy waiting for you to show up!"

"I ain't that damn impatient!" Wainwright grumbles. Alistair smiles, wrapping an arm around his husband's waist. Wainwright does the same in return, kissing his temple. Alistair cherishes the small moment of comfort. 

"Like hell you aren't, Jakobs. You're worse than Moze," Amara bites back, that 'try me' look in her eyes. Her and Wainwright get in some legendary verbal battles that Alistair is quite frankly not in the mood for. 

"Sorry for my delayed arrival, Amara," Alistair butts in right as Wainwright gets that 'bring it on' look, "Zane requested my assistance in properly flirting with that detective fellow."

Amara perks up with a wicked grin. "He's trying to get with Briggs? Oh, now that I have to see. Sorry loves, but I will have to catch you later."

With that she's off, leaving Wainwright and Alistair, still with arms around each other. Wainwright huffs.

"Everyone's runnin' off tonight, I swear. Ain't anyone got some damn manners around here?" Wainwright grumbles. Alistair just hums, leaning against him a bit more. Wainwright gives him a glance. "You doin' alright, sweetheart? You ain't partying much."

"I don't much feel like partying," Alistair mumbles. 

"What?" Wainwright asks, sounding scandalized, "We just got married! There's no better excuse to party and no better time!"

Alistair sighs, his stomach sinking. Looks like Wainwright hasn't budged on his 'everything is fine' attitude. It makes Alistair a bit nauseous. It makes him want to scream. The brief moment of calm with Moxxi dissipates, leaving his nerves feeling as raw as before. He can't look at Wainwright's eyes, out of either fear of the glow or his own rising frustration, he doesn't know, but the spike of irritation in his chest does.

"Truly? Why the hell would I be in the mood for celebration?" he snaps, letting his arm drop from Wainwright's waist. "After everything, you expect me to be perfectly alright?" Wainwright blinks in surprise.

"Al, what are you-"

"Don't you dare ask me what I am talking about. You know what I'm talking about!"

Infuriatingly, Wainwright just stares at him, confusion plain as day on his face. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes drift down a little, to Alistair's neck. He tilts his head, eyebrow knitting together as he brings a finger up to hook in Alistair's collar.

"Hey, what happened?" he asks. Alistair stiffens up immediately at the touch, shoving Wainwright's hand away and taking a step backwards. He swallows thickly, trying not to scream at Wainwright's look of shock.

"What-"

"Don't."

"But-'

"I am going to bed, goodnight." Alistair clenches his hands, trying to stop the sudden shakes. Wainwright's stunned expression hurts to look at, so he doesn't. He turns to the stairs, walking away. Wainwright doesn't say anything. Alistair manages to keep his pace even, not to attract suspicion. Behind him he can hear Moxxi yelling for everyone's attention, saying something about a redo tomorrow. He doesn't care.

As soon as he hits the landing he practically runs to their room, barely avoiding slamming the door behind him. He brings his hand to his neck, lightly touching fingers to the sore spots. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and another. Collect yourself, Alistair. Vincent's actions are not the fault of Wainwright, you know that. You absolutely know.

He feels a little better after that, and getting away from everyone quickly makes his nerves less volatile. The quiet dark of the room is soothing, and makes everything seem less oppressive without the loud voices and the bright lights. He takes a moment to just enjoy it, the first moment of calm and quiet since the vault hunters first brought Wainwright back. 

Alistair exhales slow through his nose, opening his eyes and blinking to adjust to the dark. Technically only one eye needs it, but it takes him a second regardless. He looks around the room, the faint moonlight from the window just barely lighting it. It's just enough to see where things are so he doesn't bash his head in. Bed in the center against the wall, dressed next to that, tall bureau in the corner,-

Alistair starts a bit. Next to the bureau there's an odd white blob. His first thought is that it's a ghost, like the little child he's half convinced he hallucinated out in the Cankerwood. He had asked Mancubus about it, and he said that the spirits lurking around Cursehaven generally mean no harm, and may require help. 

He approaches it cautiously, not wanting to startle it if it's another sort of...Child ghost. He gets closer, is about to cautiously reach out a hand to touch it before he realizes what it is.

Alistair feels his blood run cold, eyes widening in horror. He backs away from it, one arm held up in front of him until he collides with the edge of the bed, falling back onto it with a thump. His heart is racing. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to god it was just his imagination running away with him.

He forces himself to reopen his eyes, heart pounding in his ears. Alistair finds himself staring in shock, and his own mounting panic. It's not a ghost at all, rather it's not even human. It's two tuxedos, perfectly pressed, custom made and tailored to each other, glistening in bright, flawless white. 

Alistair whines, doubling over where he's seated on the edge of the bed, twisting his fingers into his curls like he's hoping the sting will be enough. 

It isn't.

_ "Sorry about your suit, Hammerlock." _

_ The siren. No, not the siren, Amara. A friend, someone to help. Body hurts, everything hurts. She'd given him a hypo but it wasn't enough. _

_ He waves it off. The gesture hurts his shoulder. He can't respond. His throat burns. His tux is destroyed, red staining the pure white. It's everywhere. Soaking into his back, leaking from his hand, his shoulder, unseen pains he hasn't realized yet. He looks like a walking homicide scene. But not all of it is his.  _

_ They're running again, the pounding of their feet mirroring the pounding pulse of the walls surrounding them. All four of them now, they'd run into the other three searching, for him? For Her? He doesn't ask.  _

_ He leads, he knows the way, he tried this already, it didn't work. It has to work it has to it has to. _

_ Up the ladder, to the lift, then the drop. One, Two, Three.  _

_ "Oh, lovely. You truly don't know when to give up, do you?" _

_ Her. Again. She's hovering this time. There's a crystal. There's something in the crystal.  _

_ He's dead on his feet, Wainwright is nowhere in sight.  _

_ "You have a habit of interrupting, worm. I suppose I will just have to dispose of you and your little friends, seeing as how you refuse to allow the ritual to reach completion in peace." _

_ She grins, teeth sharp. He hates it, hates her. Her voice is like sandpaper scraping against his mind. _

_ Shut it up with a bullet. His rifle. An anniversary gift. Pull the trigger, no hesitation. Straight between the eyes. _

_ A scream. It's shakes the ground, the air, his soul inside his body, ear piercing and horrible. _

_ "Shit, Hammerlock! Warn us!" _

_ Moze. Slamming into him, knocking him out of the way of Her strike. She's angry, very angry.  _

_ "You filthy WRETCH!" _

_ Anger. Anger that turns to laughter, sick and wrong amidst gunfire and creaking metal.  _

_ "Oh, but this could be fun. It's been so long since we have had any fun, hasn't it love?" _

_ "You're right, my darling." _

_ A new voice, twisted, two reverberating as one. He feels like he's dying.  _

_ A new form takes its place beside Her.  _

_ "Holy shite." _

_ Zane's voice. Alistair screams his Love's name. It's Vincent who turns to him, smiling through Wainwright's teeth. Eyes black, head tilted at an unnatural angle. The pure white of his suit jacket stained with red and black. Tentacles sprouting from his back, fingers ending in claws. _

_ "Ah, you again. I am afraid Wainwright is...No longer available. He just wasn't strong enough, you see. Much like yourself." _

_ The Thing pretending to be his fiance grins wide, grotesque. He can't speak. He's forgotten how.  _

_ "Oh to hell with this!" Moze. Her voice is near. "Light them up!" _

_ "Just her!" Fl4k. Their voice is far. "Do not harm Wainwright!"  _

_ Eleanor and Vincent laugh, echoing. He's frozen where he kneels on the ground. Gunfire picks up, the hum of the digiclone near to him. He looks up, away from the Thing and from Her.  _

_ Chaos. Olmsteads against Vault Hunters. Blood and bullets spraying. The nightmares take the hits but it doesn't seem to affect them. The digiclone hums near Zane, not shooting, standing at the ready. Protecting him. _

_ There has to be something. Has to has to.  _

_ The heart. Crystals. The Crystal that She was near. The key.  _

_ Rifle raised, target found. A crystal centered, the trigger pulled. _

_ Shatter. _

_ The scream again, this time in tandem. _

_ That did something. _

_ "Hit the crystals!" The clone hears him, and takes aim. The nightmares scream in anguish as crystals shatter and burst. Tentacles, giant, throwing things and throwing them. Hell. This is hell.  _

_ It starts to work. Her attacks get worse, the Thing falling behind. The vault hunters get caught up, Bonded coming from the walls. Surrounded.  _

_ He keeps shooting. Hit the crystals, break them, break the heart, break the curse. Break Break Break- BEHIND- _

_ "You pathetic little nuisance." _

_ Blood runs cold. _

_ Vincent's voice through Wainwright's mouth, scraping down his spine. Anger, anger that does not belong on that face.  _

_ "You have lost, worm." _

_ Spins around, raises the rifle, finger on the trigger. _

_ Stops. _

_ "And you will die for refusing to accept it." _

_ The Thing growls, lunges. Clawed hands close around his throat, squeezing tight. Nails in the back of his neck, palms crushing his windpipe. The Thing is pure hatred, lifting him off the ground. He thinks of Lilith. God let her forgive him. _

_ "Wainwright-" _

_ Choked out, kicking desperately. He claws at the hands around his neck. The Thing's tentacles wrap tight around his torso. Pinning arms, choking, squeezing, no no no no- _

_ "He. Isn't. Here. The vessel is just that, a vessel. The laughable thing it contained is gone." _

_ "Winny- Please." _

_ Tears prick the corners of his eyes. Spots dot his vision. The Thing growls. The grip tightens. _

_ "I-I. I'm sorry-" _

_ His engagement ring cuts into his hand. Blood trickles down the back of his neck. Forces himself to focus, past the dizziness. Overwhelming. He has to.  _

_ Look into his eyes, no matter how black, how Wrong. They're his. _

_ "I love you." _

_ The grip loosens. Barely. But noticeable. That horrible expression cracks just slightly. Force yourself awake, ignore your fading vision. _

_ "I love you, Wainwright." _

_ His throat burns, hands of inky blackness claw up his neck, his mind overwhelmed with fog.  _

_ He's going to die.  _

_ "STOP." _

_ A shout. That's not him. The grip loosens more. Vincent snarls. _

_ "Crawl back into your hole, dead thing." _

_ Kicking weakly with a whine. Those black eyes seem to flash, falter.  _

_ "LET GO OF HIM." _

_ The grip fails. He drops to the ground, blood soaking into his knees and palms. Gasping for breath, and in front of him Vincent screams. Or is it Wainwright? Or both. The thing stumbles backwards, one hand clawing at its face. _

_ His strength fails, collapsing on the ground, chest heaving. Turns his head just enough to see the final crystal shatter. Twin screams echo. Someone shouts for a grenade. There's a beat of dead silence, and then the heart explodes. Fire and blood. His vision clears just enough to see something fall from the explosion into a blood heap on the ground.  _

_ "Where is he-" _

_ A voice, metallic. Fl4k? _

_ "Over here! Hammerlock, are you alright? Hello? Alistair?" _

_ A tapping. Thumping. Not the heart, what- _

_ " _ Alistair?"

He whines, curling over more, fingers twisting further into his hair. The quiet knock comes to the door again, the thumping sound that's not a heartbeat. It's Wainwright's voice.

"Can I come in?"

His voice sounds wrong. It sounds small, like he's scared of startling. Alistair or him?

Get it together, come on. He forces himself to sit up, as much as he can. 

"Come in," he croaks. His voice sounds horrible. His throat hurts too much to care. He runs a hand through his hair as the door opens, trying to make it look more orderly. 

The door quietly clicks shut, Wainwright standing against it. He doesn't move any further into the room, nor does he turn on the lights. The silence is suffocating. Alistair sighs to himself, making himself look up at Wainwright. He's grateful for the dark, so he doesn't have to meet his eyes. 

"...Hi," Wainwright says. His voice sounds scratchy. 

"Hi."

He doesn't know what to say. It seems like Wainwright doesn't either. In the dark it seems his grandstanding has all but vanished. Alistair's heart aches. 

"Uh, can I..." Wainwright starts, before trailing off. He still doesn't move.

Alistair wants to shout at him, a bit. Ask him what the hell's wrong with him, why he's so obnoxiously pretending. Figure out if he's actually going insane or if everything that happened was real. But he sees Wainwright's silhouette, the slumped line of his shoulders. He feels his own desperate need for something normal. 

"Come here."

To his credit, Wainwright only hesitates slightly before he comes over to sit next to Alistair. Neither of them say a word. Alistair wants to pull him into his arms and reprimand him all the while. He does neither. Wainwright sighs, his hands absently flexing and twitching fingers. It's a thing he does when he's worked up over something. The pink ring on his finger seems to flash with a dull glow. Alistair takes breath, and settles his hand on top of Wainwright's. Gently. He covers the ring while doing so.

Wainwright shudders out a quiet sigh. He turns his hand over underneath Alistair's, the two of them lacing their fingers together without thought or question. Silence, still. Alistair doesn't know what to say, and he's not sure he wants to speak first. Luckily he doesn't have to. Wainwright looks up a bit, just enough to catch eye of the white tuxedos. The horrible, disgustingly perfect tuxedos. Alistair hears his breath catch just a little.

"Thought we threw those out," he croaks. He seems just as shaken as Alistair is. 

"It would seem not. I imagine it's Mancubus' doing," he replies, voice quiet.

"That's-" Wainwright starts, before cutting himself off with a pained sound. It could be mistaken for a laugh, the kind that comes from a flailing desperation to be wrong about something. He doubles over some, covering his face with his free hand. "That ain't helpin' nothing."

Alistair makes a small noise in the back of his throat, one he hopes conveys agreement.

"It's unsettling, to say the least. Those suits were practically destroyed."

Wainwright doesn't respond to that, nor does he move. Alistair isn't sure how long they sit in silence before Wainwright moves, scrubbing his hand down his face and staring at the tuxedos.

"...So that did happen?"

Alistair's brows knit together, tilting his head in confusion. A knot starts to form in his stomach, hating the uncertainty.

"I..." God what does he even say. Why would it not have happened? "Yes, it did. The whole bloody nightmare that it was."

Another beat of silence. Wainwright's fingers twitch against his.

"Alistair?"

"Yes?"

"Am I. Uh, am I here right now?"

The knot turns into a fist, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Alistair squeezes Wainwright's hand in his, tightly.

"I..." he barely knows what to say. "Yes. You are."

"Oh." is all Wainwright says. "Ha. That's good." his voice carries a forced casualness, one that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. 

He has to say something. God he doesn't want to say anything. 

"Wainwright... What's going on with you?"

Wainwright stares at the floor for a long moment. Alistair scarcely dares to breathe, lest he scare him off. And isn't that an odd fear to have about your husband? His wonderful, headstrong, stubborn, fearless husband. 

"Alistair, I-" Wainwright starts, before cutting himself off with a sigh. In the dark Alistair can see that his eyes are squeezed shut. "I don't feel like this is even real. Any of it."

"What do you mean? We are both here, are we not?" Alistair presses. Getting Wainwright to talk about anything that bothers him is the emotional equivalent to pulling teeth. It takes determination, patience, and occasionally some alcohol to dull things. 

"I don't...Hell, how do I even-" Wainwright grumbles, discouraged. Alistair squeezes his hand again. Wainwright doesn't squeeze back.

"When I was...With an extra. He kept putting these...Images in my head. Dreams, almost, but more real. Memories? 'Cept they weren't just past stuff. Shit, I dunno."

Wainwright's hands have started shaking. For maybe the first time in his life, Alistair doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to throw him off, or get him to stop talking. It takes him a minute.

"It was to try an' keep me quiet. Fill my head with fantasies, bout us, our wedding, even havin' kids in one of 'em."

Wainwright laughs softly. Remorseful.

"I almost fell for it. I think...I think I did in the end... But it was hazy, somethin' bout it weren't right, an' I managed to get out of it. Somehow."

Alistair's heart breaks. God, he didn't even think about what Vincent must have done to Wainwright in his own head. Trying to keep him complacent, or at least unable to fight back as much...The thought made him nauseous. He can't even imagine how Wainwright feels. 

His attitude is suddenly starting to make a lot of sense. Wainwright won't look at him.

"He wouldn't shut up for a damn second. The minute I woke up back at the lodge, he was there. It was like a whisper, at first. An' then it just got worse, and worse. Tryin' to fight it off was exhausting."

He finally looks at Alistair, then, though he won't meet his eyes. He has tears in his own. His gaze falls to Alistair's throat, and his expression turns to one of fear.

"...I hurt you."

"No."

"I almost killed you."

"Vincent almost killed me. You had nothing to do with it."

"I- God. I'm so sorry. Al, I-"

"Don't," Alistair cuts him off firmly, ignoring Wainwright's noise of confusion. He lets go of his husband's hand in favor of grabbing his jacket, pulling the man into his arms. Wainwright stiffens at first, but only for a moment. He makes a pained sound, the muffled whine of a man trying to hold himself together. Alistair wraps arms around him, holding him tightly. Any earlier anger or frustration has vanished, leaving an all encompassing pain in its wake. Not agony, not a physical pain either. It's a kind of misery, a helpless and ugly thing, tinged with regret and running red with fear. Of what was, what could have been, what still might. 

"I tried, Alistair," Wainwright whispers. His fingers twist into Alistair's shirt. "I tried so damn hard, I-" he makes that awful sound again, sniffling. Alistair squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to hold it together. 

"I'm so sorry," he manages. He doesn't know what else to say. Nothing he can say will fix anything. Wainwright shakes his head.

"No. I'm sorry, s'my fault, stupid..."

"Stop that," Alistair mumbles, turning his head to kiss Wainwright's temple. "You did nothing wrong, you were trying to help protect innocent people from monsters, you're a damned hero."

Wainwright laughs, an ugly, hollow sound. He doesn't make any effort to move, but he does turn his head away.

"Hero, right," he scoffs, voice cracking slightly. "The hell kinda hero puts people he loves through that?"

"The kind that fought against a tyrant until the very end."

Wainwright doesn't respond to that, but his shoulders shake. He clings to Alistair hard, and Alistair doesn't comment on the muffled crying.

"I didn't. I didn't, I gave up," Wainwright whines, sitting up enough to wipe his eyes. Seeing the man he loves cry feels like a knife to the heart, but Alistair forces himself not to show it. He doesn't want to make things worse, not now. 

"I gave up, Alistair. Don't you get it? He won and- And I-" he exhales shakily, sniffling. Alistair hands him the handkerchief he keeps in his pocket. Wainwright wipes his eyes, balling the cloth up in his hand.

"... I felt myself dyin', Alistair." Wainwright's voice is scarcely even audible, like he's afraid of what he's saying. "I was dyin' in my own damn mind, and the only thing I found myself wishin' for was one last peaceful moment with you."

Alistair bites his lip to keep the distressed cry at bay. He rests his head on Wainwright's shoulder, unable to keep his own tears at bay, not with something like that. He can at least try to keep it quiet. 

"I thought... I thought maybe he'd give me that. The memories, visions, whatever it was. I thought if I let him win, he'd at least let me pretend I had you as my dying thought. I was so tired, I just thought...There weren't any hope left, then. I gave up."

They're both crying now, both trying to keep as quiet as possible so as to not upset the other. 

"It was empty. Jus' absolutely nothin', I felt like nothin'. Kinda felt like floatin' in the lake when I was little, 'cept there wasn't any sunlight, just dark."

Wainwright rests his head against Alistair's. Alistair squeezes him tightly, his own tears staining Wainwright's collar.

"I heard you, Al. I heard your voice, and you were upset, hurt." Wainwright swallows, pausing. When he speaks again his voice is barely more than a sob. "I couldn't just leave you. Not like that." 

Alistair sits up at that, so he can look at his husband properly. The memory is still there, vivid, though this time he doesn't get lost in it. Wainwright meets his eyes for the first time since entering the room. 

"You said you loved me, Alistair. That's how I got back." 

Alistair's heart aches and swells, and a sob finally escapes him, accompanied by a watery grin. He cups Wainwright's cheek, feeling like he's about to shatter.

"I do love you," he chokes out. "More than I can ever describe, and more than those damned Olmsteads could ever know."

Wainwright smiles back, a small thing. It's the most beautiful sight. 

"I know, I know, I love you too."

Alistair gently rubs his thumb over Wainwright's cheekbone. Events from the past few days flash through his mind, but they don't drag him under, not this time. Not with Wainwright in his arms, alive and whole. They both are, even if...

"I thought I lost you," Alistair whispers. "I thought you were gone, and that it was my fault, for not protecting you, for not being fast enough, for-"

"Hey," Wainwright cuts him off. "If it ain't my fault, it ain't yours."

Alistair shrugs a shoulder, his exhale shaking slightly.

"I suppose, but-"

"None a' that either."

Alistair glares lightly, not bothering to argue further. He knows he's right.

"I was so afraid, Winny," he mumbles, looking away. "I was a coward. I did not do as much as I could or as quickly, too wrapped up in my own doubts and uncertainties."

Alistair sighs. He hates talking about it already, but Wainwright laid his soul out, it's only right he do the same. 

"I thought this would prove that I was not a man capable of this- This type of thing."

"Type a' what?"

"Relationship, I suppose. I almost did nothing, I was tempted, when we were out on the hunt. I thought I would abandon everything, a selfish coward who's fears destroyed everything."

Wainwright stiffens, but doesn't say anything. Alistair doesn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes, so he stares at the bedspread. 

"When we were tracking the creature, I entertained the idea of letting it kill me, or something else that would give me cause to leave. But when we found it, when our lives were on the line...The only thing I thought of was seeing you, again. How much I missed your voice, your smile...My own self doubts paled in comparison to the thought of losing you."

Wainwright chokes, sniffling. He scrubs at his eyes with his jacket. Alistair takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet his eyes again. 

"I apologize. For how I was acting downstairs. I understand why, now, but your acting as though none of it happened, or had no significance, it..."

Alistair swallows. Wainwright's expression is unreadable, maybe a bit annoyed. Shit. 

"I have through hell a dozen times over, lost limbs, faced threats and creatures there was near no hope of overcoming. Nothing has ever terrified me as much as the thought of losing you. I have never felt a fear so intense, so all consuming as that."

"You thought I was underminin' it?" Wainwright asks, voice flat. Alistair shakes his head.

"I thought I was going insane, imagining things far worse than they were. I thought I was over-exaggerating, perhaps hallucinating, because you were acting as though everything was fine."

"That's why you stormed off."

"Yes."

A beat of silence, then. There's still noise from downstairs, music and yelling. It's comforting.

"...Think we're both kinda messed up now," Wainwright whispers. Alistair laughs quietly, managing a small smile.

"I believe we are. Though your being alive helps dramatically."

Wainwright sighs, pulling Alistair in by his shirt. He doesn't go for a kiss, rather resting his forehead against Alistair's. His eyes slip closed, Alistair does the same. They're both still crying, they both probably will be for many nights to come.

"I'm sorry," Wainwright says.

"So am I," Alistair replies.

"I hurt you.

"Vincent hurt me. I left you."

"You came back."

"So then neither of us is at fault."

"S'pose not, but I still feel-"

"Like you are to blame for everything?"

A few stray tears slip down Alistair's nose. Wainwright's breathing shakes. 

"Yeah. That."

"I do too."

"...So what do we do?" Wainwright asks. The uncertainty in his voice is so alien. Alistair sighs. What do they do, with this? It's exhausting, raw. Talking about it makes him want to scream but not talking about it rips him to shreds. His head aches and his throat hurts.

"I think...We get some rest. Face it easier in the daylight, together," is what he comes to. He's too tired to figure out how to fix things. Wainwright nods.

"Okay."

Slowly, quietly, they manage to get undressed. Alistair winces when the process causes a pull at the gashes on his side, or the scrapes on his back. But they manage, parting to cross to their respective sides of the bed. Wainwright sets his pocket watch on the bedside table, Alistair gets the harnesses for his limbs off and drops them in an unceremonious pile on the floor. They meet in the middle, under the covers. Something breaks, then, the blankets a shield from the world outside, the horrors they faced and the ones they don't yet know. Arms go around each other, desperately clinging as legs intertwine. They try to get as close as possible, pressing in tight as though the nightmares in their minds can be drowned out through a warm touch and the sound of a heartbeat. 

The covers are pulled over their heads, and in their little bubble of quiet darkness, the two of them shatter, crying and desperate pleas, pieces pulled back together by apologies and reassurances and the warmth of two bodies together. Eventually they settle, Wainwright's tears trail off, his head pillowed on Alistair's chest. Alistair's own panic finally begins to subside, his hands tracing mindless patterns over Wainwright's back, taking comfort in smooth skin where tentacles once were. His head feels heavy, mine clouded, but he isn't sure he's able to sleep.

_ Red. Everywhere, soaked into the ground, filling the sky, dripping off shaking hands. Distorted faces, walls closing in. Her voice, echoing laughter, mocking, tormenting. Black eyes, sharp smile, familiar and wrong. Things playing on a loop, horrible and Wrong, over and over and- _

_ Warmth. A warmth. Walls stop moving, Her laughter fades. His throat hurts, what...? _

_ "It's alright, we detonated the heart. The viscera is exhilarating." _

_ The voice is mechanical. _

_ "Fl4k! Not the time!" _

_ Amara. _

_ No heartbeat. No laughter. Throat hurts but the hand is gone. _

_ Where... _

_ WherewherewhereWHEREWHERE _

_ "Oi! Over here!" _

_ Zane. Kneeling next to something. Someone. White fabric stained red. Shove the hands off, ignore the shouts, run over even though it hurts, it all hurts.  _

_ "He's breathin', think the blast knocked 'im out." _

_ Words, words, where are the words. Gone, stuck in his throat. Not dead, not dead, but okay? No, not okay. Collapsing on the ground next to him, prayers to a thousand names he doesn't believe. Please please please please- _

_ "Ow." _

_ Oh.  _

_ "Hell in a handbasket, what the-" _

_ Oh. _

_ Words. Words are still gone. Wainwright pushes himself upright, a bit. Looks around. _

_ "Holy- Where are we? What-" _

_ Screw words. No time. Pull him into your arms, ignore the tears, ignore everyone watching. Who cares. Who cares, he's here, he's him. His eyes are brown. Pull away just enough to check. Beautiful, warm brown. _

_ "Are you alright?" _

_ Words choke in his throat, scratchy, desperate. He laughs. It's beautiful. _

_ "Yeah, I- I feel like myself again." _

_ A gunshot rings out across the room. The Witch, probably. Who cares. The warmth spreads, comfort, safety, the first time in what feels like years. _

_ "I was so afraid..." _

_ "It's alright, Alistair." _

_ A whisper. His name echos, all around, a voice of honeyed whiskey and velvet.  _

_ "Alistair?  _ Alistair, wake up darlin'."

The world comes back, the dream fading softly, no shaky fear left in its wake. He blinks his eyes open to soft, warm light. Sunlight, streaming in from the windows that look out over the basin. There hasn't been sunlight since their arrival, always clouds. 

Though, the sunlight pales in comparison to what's right in front of him. Wainwright's leaning over his chest, propped up on one arm. He looks worse for wear, hair more of a mess than usual, exhaustion clear on his face, eyes puffy and red still. Oh, his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes, the left one slightly clouded, no presence or black or glowing pink, just that twinkle he fell in love with. Alistair's heart aches, but this time it isn't painful.

"You alright? You were makin' a lotta noise in your sleep." Wainwright asks, his voice still heavy with sleep. Alistair's nightmare, his memories really, come back, flooding to the surface. His breath hitches, Wainwright looks concerned.

"What's wr-" he's cut off by Alistair surging upright, throwing an arm around Wainwright's shoulders and dragging him into a kiss. Wainwright makes a surprised sound against his lips, one that fades out into a soft whine as Alistair pulls him back down. Warmth surrounds him, fills him, soothes the ache in his heart and the surge of nightmares faded away, lost in Wainwright's arms. They break just long enough to smile at each other before Wainwright settles on Alistair's chest, kissing him again and again and again. 

Alistair doesn't think he'll ever tire of this, the close touch, Wainwright's lips against his, it's all just as sublime as the first time, never dulling. But this, now, after everything, it's beautiful in a way Alistair could not even begin to describe. This is a new sort of feeling, one he felt when he returned from the Anvil but more intense. It's warmth, understanding, apology, forgiveness. An unspoken bond no words can ever truly describe. Devotion, a feeling that is all encompassing though not intense or overwhelming. A testament to everything, good and bad, growth and pain and discovery. It's what it feels like when the galaxy says "this is where you are supposed to be", and for the first time, it's met without any doubt or hesitancy. 

It's love, of course. Pure and powerful and boundless, strong enough to withstand whatever is thrown their way. 

The Olmsteads had nothing on this, they never did. 

When they finally part, breathing hard, there's tears on Alistair's cheeks, Wainwright the same. He gently brushes them off with his thumb, kissing Alistair's forehead.

"You alright?" he asks, smiling softly. Alistair grins, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. A real, genuine one.

"I love you, Wainwright."

"Aw, sweetheart. I love you too."

"I love you. More than there are stars in the galaxy and as assuredly as the blood pumping through my veins."

"That ain't fair, you know I'm bad with words in the morning."

Alistair chuckles again, pulling Wainwright in for another kiss. He can feel Wainwright smiling against his lips. Though he pulls away after a second, an odd look on his face.

"...We got married right?" he asks, before Alistair can question what's wrong. Alistair stares at him blankly, before he busts out laughing. Wainwright looks at him in confusion. Alistair shakes his head, trying to talk through the giggling.

"Yes- Ha! Yes we did!"

Wainwright lights up, looking the happiest he's been since they arrived on this planet.

"Oh, thank god. I thought I hallucinated that." he says, relief in his voice. Alistair beams at him. 

"You absolutely did not, Mr. Jakobs-Hammerlock."

Wainwright's smile sets his heart aflame, the pure joy on his face enough to make Alistair want to cry again. Wainwright laughs a little, stealing another kiss.

"Well, that's mighty fine, Sir Jakobs-Hammerlock."

They're both smiling as their lips meet again, laughter intermingled with tears and a desperate sort of longing. Neither of them want to leave the bed, this little safe haven they've carved for themselves in each other's arms. They fade in and out of sleep, some nightmares, some not, always wrapped up together upon waking. They talk in low voices, about things that happened, people they met, trusting each other with things they fear to speak aloud otherwise. Eventually they drag themselves out of bed as early afternoon sets in, taking their time. It's a clumsy process. Wainwright catches sight of Alistair's injuries in the daylight which causes a bit of a meltdown, more frantic apologies and guilt. Alistair catches sight of the stark white tuxedos again and gets nauseous enough that he has to shut them away in the wardrobe.

Neither of them are foolish enough to think things are alright, they know they're not. This will be a new journey, a messy, difficult one. But love is stronger than fear, and they will walk into whatever comes the same way they leave the room. Hand in hand, at each other's side, now and forever ready to face the darkness and emerge into the light. 


End file.
